


certificate of sanity

by ficmeup



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, somehow angst AND humour, which is Gotham in a nutshell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 06:53:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11156586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficmeup/pseuds/ficmeup
Summary: Canon divergence from 3x14.Oswald's willingness to die to save Ed in his test is enough to sway Ed to make a different choice regarding Oswald's fate. It doesn't make things easier.





	certificate of sanity

“Does that mean I passed? Ed?”

“I...I don't know what it means.”

The admission, voiced confused and lost, is a bizarre contradiction to the normally enigmatic and confident riddle enthusiast. Oswald from his chair sucks in deep needed gulps of oxygen, the adrenaline of going from certain death through sacrificing himself for Ed, to having Ed whole and tangible infront of him, courses through his veins.

 _It means I love you, selfishly and wholeheartedly, you stupid man_ , Oswald wants to shout.

Ed is practically pacing immobile on the spot, a vulnerability in him that not even Arkham could draw out. The words stay behind closed lips. They're on a precipice, and one wrong word could send them both tumbling over the edge.

“Ed,” Oswald pleads, only to break off when Ed's intense focus turns on him and threatens to smother him. His gaze rakes over Oswald's form. The slightly messed hair, the crinkled lines of his suit. He can still feel the humiliating sensation of wetness in his eyes.

Ed swallows, looking away. “I need time. To think.”

At this point, Nygma is talking more to himself than anyone else, despite having the rooms undivided attention, which is a feat really only he could pull off.

“You _what_?” Barbara all but shrieks in horror.

Ed ignores her, then slaps his palms together only to pull them apart instantly. “Keep him here.”

They all stare incredulously as Edward spins on his heels and makes a hasty exit, only stopping once past the entrance to hurl a final order at Butch. “I mean it, ape. If he steps a foot outside, or magically 'vanishes', I'll know who to hold accountable.”

Before the large man can respond via words or fists, Ed is gone, and with it the tension that had caged Oswald's body. He slumps forward, mind whirling at the events.

Ed, his best friend and trusted confidant, had betrayed him. No, Oswald had betrayed Ed first. Where did that leave them?

“Aaww, how sweet,” Barbara coos with a leer, “He doesn't want you to die now, even though he's the one who implemented your whole downfall in the first place!”

“Yes,” Oswald deadpans. “How romantic of him. Truly a charmer.”

Still, it doesn't stop the hope fluttering and growing in his chest. Could he have proved to Ed his love was real? That he was capable of love? Maybe...maybe he could fix this. Fix them. Or maybe this was another step in Edward's grand scheme to destroy him, one layer of skin and bone and pride at a time. Another act. One everyone was in on apart from him.

“So...we're _not_ killing Penguin?” Butch breaks the silence, managing to look confused and annoyed at once.

Ah. Maybe not everyone. Acting was never the gangster's strong suit.

“Butch, you are as astute as ever,” Oswald snaps at his former bodyguard. “It seems all you do these days is follow Edward's lead like an overgrown pup. Remember how well that worked for you with the Red Hoods?”

“We're not seriously going to keep him here?” Tabatha interferes, glaring down at Oswald in disgust, as if _he_ had been the one to torture her and not Ed.

Well. Perhaps he had played a part, inadvertently. Still, _rude_. Oswald sends his own sneer back, which is frankly of an entirely higher calibre.

Barbara examines her nails, already bored now that murder is out of the menu. “I'm not exactly a number one fan of Nygma's new ideals, but do you want to lose your only other hand because you dared kill off his little birdy without his explicit say-so?”

Butch and Tabatha share a shiver. Oswald feels a silly pride that Ed could cause that, recalling the wide eyed and jittery Ed from when they first met.

Tabatha recovers first and huffs. “I wouldn't allow that to happen again. And I doubt Nygma would care what I did to Penguin, since he was the one who constructed all of this in the first place.”

“Honey, if you think any of us have any idea what goes through Nygma's big, brilliant and bizarre brain, think again.”

“Here, here,” Oswald agrees with spirit. If he had a glass, he'd raise it. A toast to the infuriating unpredictable former GCPD member.

It's difficult, after being stripped bare and vulnerable in front of Gotham's other ruthless underground criminals, to conjure a persona of dignity and authority; but he's the King of Gotham, both in daylight and moonlight, and he'll be damned if this...weakness for Ed is what dethrones him.

“Since I'm going to be here for the unforeseen future, and own the very land you're standing on, it's only fair I get a drink of the high-priced quality.” Oswald stands and pats himself down, smoothing out the many creases in his suit and adjusting his necktie. “Also, I'd just like to announce that I hate you all for betraying me and plotting my murder.”

“Noted!” Barbara chirps, already heading to the drinks. “Red or white wine?”

 

* * *

 

 

Time passes slowly after Ed's departure. Various thoughts of escape had ran through his mind. They all played out the same piteous way. An ankle caught in a whip. A gun pointed to his temple. A body of pure muscle blocking his way. Even if he go out of the vicinity of the Sirens, he didn't know who he could turn to. He wasn't sure how many of his people Ed had got to. How long Ed had been planning this.

If he was being entirely honest to himself, his lack of urgency was connected to the fact that he didn't want to leave here without Ed.

So he drank.

Eventually, Tabatha and Butch had left the room (no doubt still nearby), leaving only him and Barbara facing eachother on different sides of the bar, sharing tales and cutting jibes. A mockery of friendship.

“And then I stuck the umbrella in his—”

A door opening and hurried footsteps whisks the calm ambience that had been settling. Oswald doesn't bother to face their new arrival, focusing on the gratifying swish of his wine glass.

“You allowed him to drink?” Ed growls, and _oh_ , that's a nice gravely timbre. He'd quite like Ed to growl at him like that. In completely different circumstances of course.

Barbara shrugs. “You said 'keep him here.' Not 'keep him sober'.”

Ed smiles. It's a slow, sharp, sinister thing. “My apologies, I didn't realise you needed an elaborate explanation on how to keep a hostage with your experience.”

Being referred to as a hostage, not Oswald or even Penguin, has Oswald's teeth grinding and he finally turns around. They shared a home not so long ago; he wasn't a piece of cargo for Ed to dismiss.

“Talking about people while they're within earshot is very rude,” Oswald tsks. “Very, very rude.”

He wiggles his finger to articulate the very's in Ed's direction—or what he hopes is Ed's direction—snorting when all he gets in return is a blank Ed, like he's been put off course by Oswald's intoxication and all his well thought out and glorious schemes are crumbling before his very own eyes.

 _Good_ , he thinks bitterly and goes to down the small puddle of red poison left in his glass. If he's going to head to his death by the hands of the man he confessed to, he wont do it sober.

Except a gloved hand encompasses the top of the glass.

“Enough,” Ed says. “We're leaving.”

Oswald frowns at the inconvenient appendage. “Sorry dear, but no-ones leaving until I finish this spectacular beverage.”

He tries to pry his glass from the long fingers, but between his muddled cognition and Ed's stone grip little is achieved. At a standstill, he has no choice but to look up at the man beside him.

“Oswald,” Ed begins to threaten, eyes behind spectacles gleaming in the clubs luminous lights as they bear down on him.

“In fact, why don't we all have a drink?” He merrily proposes before Ed can begin his list of various mundane threats. He spreads his arms, otherwise a pointless gesture due to an empty nightclub if it wasn't for the satisfying, angry tick of Ed's jaw. “Drinks on me!”

Edward responds by swiping the glass out of reach. He raises it high, high enough that Oswald would need to stand to reach it. Even then, it would be easy enough for the taller man to keep it out of range. Knowing this, Oswald stays seated, raising one unimpressed eyebrow at his friends antics.

When Oswald makes no move to retrieve it, Ed lets the glass dangle, then slip from his leather grasp and smash on the floor, the red quickly spreading onto the sleek marble floor. Ed pays the shattered glass no attention, never tearing his gaze from his Oswald's. A irritated huff is heard nearby.

“Oops.” Ed rolls the word on his tongue, the 'p' bouncing off his mouth in fashion.

“Rather childish, don't you think? Not one for alcohol? Afraid it'll make you stop lying to yourself?”

Ed laughs, a tarnished spiteful sound that pales to his genuine one. “That's awfully bold of you to assume what I feel, Oswald.”

Oswald grins with pride, knowing Ed would have taken that leap. “Oh, I'm not referring to me. But Isabelle.”

“Isabella,” Ed corrects, absent-mindedly by now, but he's swaying forward, curious to what Oswald will say.

“Isa _whatever,_ ” Oswald spits. “My point is you never loved her. How could you? You barely knew her. No, you, Edward Nygma, loved the idea of her!”

Ed moves quickly, grabbing him by his upper arms and pulling him from his chair in one movement. This close Oswald can smell the expensive cologne clinging to him, see the many tormented emotions swirling in those dark orbs.

“Be extremely careful about what you say next, Oswald.”

“Hmm,” Oswald murmurs, uncaring. “It's understandable. She was a spit image of your past. A chance to rectify what you did. A new beginning.”

Ed shakes him a little in punishment. “Don't presume to know me.”

“I don't presume.” He raises a finger to Ed's chest and pokes him hard, thrice. “I. Know. You. Ed.” _And I still love you._

The fingers tighten to an uncomfortable amount. They'll be bruises in the shape of finger prints blemishing his pale skin later.

“Sooooo, anyone gonna actually clean that up or do I need to call the janitor?”

Oswald would have backed uncomfortably all the way into the bar out of shock if not for Ed. Even after spending the previous hour with her, Oswald had managed to completely forget Barbara's presence. Judging from Ed's agitated disposition as he readjusts his glasses with a forefront finger, he had to.

“I'll be in touch,” Ed says to Barbara.

Edward begins to move, one hand still tightly wound around Oswald's arm so he has no choice but to follow. The hurried pace and lethargy have him stumbling, a combination of his limp and the drinks to blame, but Ed is there to catch him. He looks up at Ed to try to get a read on him, but any telling emotions have been locked tightly away.

With enough alcohol in his system he could almost believe this was before everything had gone to the hell of his own making. Ed, always close and supportive, leading him down the pathway to a meeting, pointing where to wave and smile, adjusting his tie, informing him of who's and when's.

The dream collapses when they make it to the car. Oswald doesn't recognise the driver; another precaution by Edward.

Oswald speaks when it seems Ed is content to sit there indefinitely, gazing out the window. He recognises the path they're taking.

“Killing a man in his own family home seems a tad bit crude, don't you think?”

Apart from Ed's fist clenching, he's entirely still. “Do you want to die? As you surely know by now that _can_ be arranged.”

“Do I want to die?” Oswald repeats sarcastically, a manic chuckle let lose. “Hmm. Gee! Let me think.”

“Enough with the sarcasm,” Ed shouts, finally looking at him. “What are you truly thinking, Oswald?”

“I was thinking about you!” Oswald screams back. “About us!”

“You were thinking about yourself!”

“Of course I was! Because I didn't want to lose you, because I—”

The declaration fades on his tongue. He tries to blink the tears that had been rising away, but only succeeds in wetting his eyelashes. In the pause, Ed had drawn closer, an almost hopeful expression lighting his features.

“No. I want you to say it.”

Seconds pass as he blinks owlishly. Oh. _Oh_. Ed wanted him to say it again. To feed his ego? To make the Penguins last words about him?

He ponders on saying those three words again. The temptation to find the crack in Edward's armour. The yearning to plead and beg for his feelings to be believed until his throat burned. He remembers his fathers false ghost, his insecurities being dragged out into the spotlight and pulverized, the meltdown on live television—all plotted by Ed with the single goal to destroy him.

He crushes the foolish whims of his heart down and crosses his arms petulantly.

“I'm fine for now, thanks,” Oswald says amicably, a satisfying thrill curling within when Edward glares.

The taste of victory turns sour quickly.

“Ed, I am sorry for hurting you. Truly I am.” Oswald sucks in a deep breath, knowing the devastation his next words would cause. “But I will _never_ be sorry for killing her. To do so would be a lie and deny the kind of person I am.”

“And what kind of person would that be, Oswald? A narcissistic murderer?”

“Yes. The same kind as you.” Oswald shrugs one shoulder, a defeated smile playing on his lips. “One of the many reasons we're so perfect for eachother,” he adds sombrely.

Ed is silent for a while. When he does speak, it's to grace him with a riddle.

“I can bring tears to your eyes; resurrect the dead, make you smile, and reverse time. I form in an instant but I last a lifetime. What am I?”

Edward doesn't wait for Oswald to solve the puzzle.

“Memory,” he quietly clarifies. “I once told you I would do anything for you. Consider me sparing your life that.”

There's a softness to Ed now, shining through the rough edges, and Oswald yearns to reach over and smooth out the hard lines of his jaw. Before he can, the car stops. They had arrived at the Van Dahl estate.

Inside, the walls, furniture and company are all familiar to him, but he feels like a stranger amidst a foreign land. The warmth of the fireplace does little to keep the cold seeping into his skin.

“I have no interest in running Gotham, but I know you do," Ed tells him in the foyer. "You may still be breathing, but don't think my revenge is gone. I will take everything you hold dear. Everything you achieved...”

“Everything _we_ achieved, Ed," Oswald corrects. “Besides, I might find you cute but don't flatter yourself. I've fought against worst odds and won. You may be smart, but you're not a leader.” Oswald walks up to him to deliver the final blow. “You are _nothing_ without me. ”

A boyish grin of pure joy stretches on Ed's face, an expression of innocence if not for the cunningness lurking in every feature. “I have to admit, I am _so_ glad you said that.”

Determined not to be intimidated by the ominous comment, Oswald spitefully grins back.

Game on.

 

* * *

 

Despite the massive rift between him and Edward, things surprisingly around the mansion haven't changed to a drastic amount. Familiar faces are still seen around; Gabe and his goons (no longer loyal to him despite the riches he had bribed to them upon first seeing them in the hallway) still loitered around. Oswald felt compelled to point out Gabe's dwindling intelligence and life expectancy on the occasion. The only thing keeping Gabe from throttling him had been Ed's presence.

The one person he knows whose loyalty would never be curved was Victor Zsasz, who so far had been absent. Either Ed has taken him out of the equation (unlikely), or Zsasz had been busy. Oswald isn't too worried; he knows what a formidable foe and reliable ally Zsasz is. With no access to phones thanks to constantly being watched, patience is key.

“You know Olga, you are quite literally my only ally within contact distance at this moment,” he muses out loud at the breakfast table the next morning. “Which is rather cruel considering you don't understand a word I'm saying.”

Olga sets down a plate of toast rather forcefully, enough to make the table shake. “Bez truda, ne vitashish i ribku iz pruda.”

“I know, right?” He agrees to the garble of words with an enthusiastic nod, distracted by the choice between a scone or pastry. “I mean, Ed said he wouldn't kill me, and quite frankly the break from those awful stuffy conferences is welcome, but does he really think he can keep me locked here like some trophy and I'll accept that? I _run_ this town.”

Olga mutters a string of Russian which Oswald takes as an agreement. He decides on a crumpet.

“Besides it's only a matter of time,” he says around a piece of crumpet, “the people of Gotham will see their Mayor is missing and riot.”

“Don't speak with mouth fall,” Olga lectures.

Oswald chokes on the crumpet.

“Y-you,” he gapes at her. “You could speak english? This entire time?”

Olga scoffs. “Of course I could. Silly man.”

“ _What_?” Oswald flails his arms wildly, resembling a penguin trying pathetically to fly. “All the times I've poured my heart out to you, my deepest secrets, you actually understood? Do I need a lawyer? An attorney? A priest?”

“You really are an idiot,” another voice chimes in, cutting through his ramble.

It's Ed's voice. Softer than it has been for a while, almost fond, reminiscent of their nights in the living room, paperwork and brandy shared between them.

Oswald's heart jolts at it, and at the possibly Edward had heard the entire conversation. From his laid back stance against the door frame and lazy smile, it wouldn't appear so. Yet Oswald knows exactly what a deceiving performer he can be.

Thankfully, it's a talent of his own too.

“How nice of you to join us,” Oswald beams cheerily at him. The 'us' might be a bit redundant since Olga is already making her way out. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Edward smirks victoriously, as if waiting for that very opportunity, and practically skips to place something down infront of Oswald on the table before joining his hands behind his back.

It's a newspaper, and on the very front page is a rather large picture of Edward in a ridiculous bowler hat. Edward is practically vibrating with impatient energy beside him and Oswald wonders if this is what owning a dog to collect the morning paper round is like.

The bolded headline catches his eye first: **THE RIDDLER TERRORIZES GOTHAM.**

Oswald scoffs and scans the starting paragraph. Kidnapping a GCPD member named Lucius Fox, forcing them to solve riddles with dire consequences if answered incorrectly, various important men caught in the deadly game. Oswald rolls his eyes at the theatrics and looks back up to an expectant Ed.

“You do realise the entire police force will be checking this place first for the Chief of Staff turned public villain right?”

“Naturally,” Ed calmly replies.

The lack of panic grates at Oswald's nerves. “Yet here you are. Riddle me that, _Riddler._ ”

He voices the absurd title with as much irony he feels towards it and vows to make it an insult the rare time he utters it. The reaction he expects from Ed is of hurt pride, a dark fury to prove Oswald wrong. Not for Ed to continue smirking down at him.

“I knew this wouldn't be easy,” he says, soundly strangely relieved.

Oswald frowns. “What? Escaping from the GCPD?”

Edward chuckles. “Escaping from a bunch of buffoons? I think not. No. You, accepting that I am not and never was a part of you. That I don't need you.”

Oswald curls his fists together under the table. Edward's ability to deny the blatant truth was infuriating.

“Then why are you here, Ed? Showing me this, wanting my opinion?” Oswald sneers. “My _approval_?”

Edward's smile thins out. Oswald's grows wide in return. He's managed to cut a scratch into Ed's new persona.

Oswald leans back on the chair leisurely, staring thoughtfully at the ceiling. “A man needs what he doesn't want, yet wants what he doesn't need.”

When Oswald looks back down it takes all his restraint to not openly giggle at the dumbfounded expression on Ed's face. The metaphoric scales between them had tipped, Ed being thrown off balance by an unexpected conundrum from someone other than himself.

“How poetic,” Edward drawls, tone thick and patronising. “A riddle for you, instead: why is a quarrel like a bargain?”

Oswald blinks uselessly.

“It takes two to make one! Goodbye, Oswald.”

The abrupt change leaves him gaping at his friend, smiling from ear to ear like the cat who got the canary, and by the time he's recovered from the verbal whiplash, Ed is already gone.

“Curse you, Ed,” he mutters to the breakfast table, stabbing a piece of toast with particular venom.

 

* * *

 

 

It's on the third day that Oswald has decided that screw patience, he's had enough.

He'd been waiting to find a heap of snakes in his bathtub, wake up to his bed on fire, to turn the television on and see a newly elected mayor personally picked by Ed, have his entire warehouses raided, or something equally devastating. Yet Ed had been positively normal and incredibly distant and _nothing was happening_.

Striding with a purpose, he finds Ed in the living room.

“Ed, we simply must talk. I've given you enough time—”

“You've given _me_ time?” Ed patronises without looking up. “I think you'll find it's me giving you time. Time to continue breathing.”

Ed is seated on the couch, pen in hand, numerous pieces of paper scattered on the small table in front. Oswald wonders what the files are. Surely not his Chief of Staff duties. Some ridiculous part of his next Riddler performance? His sleeves are rolled up on his crisp white shirt, jacket nowhere to be seen. It's a rare enough sight to halt Oswald's well prepared tirade.

Edward's mouth shapes into an 'O' shape as he comes to a realisation. He meets Oswald's gaze and points the pen at him. “You're a child pulling a tantrum to get attention.”

“Trust me,” Oswald smiles, white sharp teeth on display. “If this was a tantrum they'd be a lot more dead bodies.”

Ed expertly twirls the pen between his fingers. “How would you do that? I've ensured you have nothing to work with.”

“Oh Ed. So smart, yet so dumb,” Oswald says fondly. “You've forgotten about the biggest danger in the equation.”

Ed raises an unimpressed eyebrow and waits.

Oswald splays a hand on his chest arrogantly. “Me!”

“I'll take my chances,” Ed scoffs, going back to his paper.

“ _Edward_.”

No response.

“Edward, Edward, Edward, Edward—”

Ed sighs loudly as if heavily burdened, placing the pen down with painstakingly precision. “What is easy to get into but hard to get out of?”

“Oh for the love of—I don't—”

“Trouble. You signed up for this when you issued the order to kill Isa—”

“That's my chair you're in,” Oswald haughtily points out.

It's an odd thing to bring up—considering this whole mansion is under the Cobblepot name—but he didn't want to hear that wretched name fall from Ed's lips anymore. Besides, that _was_ where he always sat, in that very exact spot. Ed would always be seated at the other end of the couch. No name labels were tethered on the seats, but a never spoken understanding of where they both belonged; close, within touching distance and never far apart.

“Move,” Oswald demands.

Edward's lips quirk in amusement and he forgets about the papers entirely, resting his chin on joined hands. “You really do continue to surprise me, Oswald. I've taken _everything_ from you and you still continue to act like a spoiled prince.”

Oswald sniffs superiorly. “The only thing you have is my chair and I want it back.”

“Or what?” Edward dares, clearly enjoying Oswald's ridiculous boldness over something so trivial.

Oswald raises his shoulders, straightening his back, and looks down on Ed. “Or I'll make you move.”

Ed's brows lower, head tilting a fraction and eyes darkening; a panther ready to pounce.

Edward doesn't pounce.

So Oswald does. Slowly, like one might approach a startled deer. Though Ed is anything but prey.

With the gap filled he starts by running a finger over Ed's jawline, like he had wanted to do in the car, and then gently cupping his chin, thumbs stroking the cheekbones. It seems Ed is paying his ministrations little attention, gaze locked tightly to his own. Only the quick rise and fall of his chest gives him away.

And more importantly; Ed hasn't moved.

“You're really not going to move, Ed?” Oswald wonders aloud, bringing a thumb dangerously close to Ed's lower lip. “That stubborn not to lose to me?”

Ed doesn't reply, save for the sharp fierce challenge glinting in his eyes.

He moves on, running his fingers through the light brown locks of hair, a fantasy he's allowed himself to indulge in for months, and somehow the hair is even softer than he imagined, curling slightly at the tip.

“Or...could it be you want this?” Oswald continues, bending down even more so his breath will be felt on Ed's skin. “You want me?”

“I don't love you,” Ed denies scathingly. “I don't, I don't...”

Oswald doesn't let him continue his weak denials and pushes Ed down on the rest of the couch, climbing on top. The papers fly and fall to the ground around them like confetti. Edward's glasses are askew, his mouth parted in shock or exhilaration, stroked hair now free from the confines of gel and covering his forehead.

“Ed,” Oswald begins, not knowing what he'll say, but knowing he wants to imprint this image of Ed into his memory eternally.

Then Ed surprises him grabbing him down by the collar and kissing him.

It's a ravaging kiss, Oswald barely keeping up with Ed's fierce hungry desire to conquer. Somewhere along the line Oswald's hands have scrunched up in Ed's shirt, perhaps hanging on, afraid if he lets go Ed will disappear. Between the crackling fireplace nearby and Ed's lengthy body plastered to his, Oswald feels warmer than he's ever been. His heart was beating so wildly he wondered if Ed could hear the drumming.

Oswald cant help but whine when Ed pulls back.

Ed shushes him, sliding a hand from his collar to his hair, grabbing the strands resting at his nape and tugging slightly to the left. Oswald gasps lightly in shock and Ed wastes no time taking advantage of the opportunity and plundering his mouth again.

The slide of fabric is barely felt as Ed uses his other hand to tear his tie off. Oswald reluctantly places his hand on Ed's to still his movements when he goes to remove another article of clothing and pulls back. Lips tingling, he bites his lip to stop the sensation and tries to ignore the thrill when Ed focuses on the movement. He's wanted this for so long, but he needs to know what Ed feels.

“Ed, I—”

The sound of car doors slamming and indignant outcry's piece the air.

Oswald closes his eyes and wills to get his breathing under control. “Expecting company?”

Edward rises, a deeply annoyed frown present on his face. “Most likely the GCPD. Finally realising who they've been chasing this entire time is a decoy. Though the fact they didn't check this place first is questionable even by their low standards.”

Ed's voice is husky, a leftover effect from what transpired, even while he's rambling. Oswald wonders how he appears in comparison to Ed, exposed like this. Was his skin as flushed as it felt?

“A decoy, seriously?” Oswald snorts, sliding off Ed's lap. “One of the oldest tricks in the book.”

Ed gaze narrows, tracking the motion, before smirking victoriously. “I picked a green suit that would stand out for a reason.”

Oswald has the insane urge to smack and both kiss the astonishing madman. Before he gets the chance to do either, another yell and the sound of a gun firing rings through the house. Oswald can say he's never hated the GCPD more. Even when they arrested him.

Gabe rushes in, three more guys behind him, who don't even blink at their current employers disheveled state. “Boss, what should we do?”

“Get the situation under control, obviously,” Ed snaps.

"And what about him?”

Oswald stiffens as Gabe jerks his head in his direction. Ah yes. In the moment he had completely forgot that Ed considered them enemies and wanted his precious revenge.

Edward runs a hand through his hair, trying to return it to some semblance which is futile, and stands, taking all the warmth with him. Oswald shivers.

“Don't do this, Ed,” Oswald warns, knowing that if they parted now whatever happened would be buried under layers of denial and hatred and pain. “Don't you dare.”

Ed doesn't look at him, putting on his suits blazer. “Take Mr. Cobblepot to his room.”

Gabe takes a step forward, Oswald takes a step back in retaliation and glares at the both of them.

“No, Edward Nygma, you _need_ me. Now, more than ever.”

Oswald might as well be yelling at a stone statue for all the effect he's having on Edward. Realising his panicked screams are getting him nowhere, he changes tactics. Ed was a logical man. He needed to use logic.

“You know it's only a matter of time before Barbara are the rest turn on you. Combine that with the GCPD hunting you down and you are heavily outnumbered!” Oswald yells after him. “You cannot fight a war on both sides!”

It was the right thing to say. Its enough to make Ed pause his preparations and award him with a fleeting glance.

Ed finishes putting his gloves on, flexing one hand before curling it into a fist. “You'd be surprised. It's an area I have sufficient expertise in.”

Or the wrong thing.

Oswald wordlessly watches Ed leave, the meaning of Ed's words lost on him, more perplexing than any riddle.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Gabe locks the door behind them. The slide of the lock is still deafeningly loud, considering the much louder noises happening just outside. Oswald sits down, crosses his legs, and waits. He can practically see the cogs slowly turning in the organ Gabe calls a brain.

Gabe coughs lightly and shuffles from foot to foot. “It's been a riot, but times have changed. Me and the boys are moving on. And for that, your death is required.”

Oswald laughs hysterically at the meagre declaration, patting the bed in merriment and catching his breath to stare at Gabe's befuddled expression with one of his own.

“Oh, would you like me to pretend I'm shocked? Oh my. How shocking. I am truly shocked at this shocking turn of events.”

There's a gun pointed at Oswald now. “Shut up, freak. I was going to make this quick, for old times sake, but now I'm not so sure.”

Unnoticed by Gabe, Oswald's eyes narrow considerably at the offending insult. “How long have you wanted to do this while working for me?” he inquires, biding his time.

“Always. I was simply waiting for the right opportunity.”

Oswald claps in giddiness. “How convenient! So am I! And tonight I think I might be in luck.”

Gabe ignores him. “Stand up,” he orders.

Oswald is ready to refuse until something catches his eye. He smirks and stands, taking one limped step forward.

“You're a pathetic moron, Gabe. Once I thought you were at least a loyal one.” Oswald rolls his eyes. “Which is kind of hilarious since you managed to betray _both_ me and Ed in less than a week!”

“Nothing personal, _boss_. I go where the money and power goes. Right now, that's with Barbara Kean. You're finished. Any last words?”

Oswald sighs with disappointment. “You waltz into a crime lords bedroom and don't expect me to have a few traps already set in place for unwanted guests? _Honestly_.”

Oswald waggles his eyebrows and nods behind Gabe.

He's betting on Gabe to follow his lead, stifling a giggle when the oaf actually does, and throws himself brazenly at the vase that caught his eye earlier while Gabriel's back is turned. Gabe spins back at the commotion to aim the gun instead of guarding himself, and that's when Oswald knows he'll come out the victor.

The shot goes wide when Oswald relentlessly smashes the vase on his head, which bursts into a hundred pieces. It's not enough to keep Gabe down, so he takes up his cane and administers a few quick harsh blows to the temple that make a horrible gratifying crunch.

Breathing heavily, Oswald leans back on his cane and admires his handiwork. Unfortunately the brute was still alive, just with now even less brain cells. Oswald picks up the hitman's gun and points it at the unconscious but still breathing body.

As tempting as it would be to pull the trigger, watch the life spill out from him in red waves of blood, Oswald wants him to suffer and feel every painful second of it for double-crossing him. Gabe would die in a way he enjoyed...eventually.

A sharp sting is felt in his right hand and he brings it up for inspection. Shards of the vase had sliced his palm when it shattered. It's a deep gash, but manageable, and hardly priority right now. He kicks the shattered remains of pottery with disdain. “I never liked that vase anyway.”

Grabbing a random hooded coat from the mostly ignored part of his wardrobe, Oswald heads into the hallway. His limp gives him away, but in the chaos of bullets and knives and screaming, no one is paying the small man's odd gait any attention.

Compelled against all reason, he runs straight to Ed's office. Oswald can't tell if he's disappointed or relieved when the room is empty, but shakes off his melancholy and grabs his dearly missed mobile from Edward's personal desk drawer. Strangely predictable of Ed. Ruled by sentiment despite his argument to the contrary, or he was severely underestimating Oswald. He hoped it was the former.

“The Penguin is missing,” someone barks from upstairs. "Forget the cops! Find him or the Riddler will have your head!”

 _The most terrifying part about that announcement_ , Oswald thinks as he hides behind a door as two bodies run past, _is that Ed has actually managed to get people to use his ridiculous name_.

They must have come across the bloodstained spectacle he left behind in his room. Windows were his only chance of leaving now. Knowing the drop will be hell on his leg, he braces himself for the worst and allows his body to fall, aiming for the bushes to cushion his landing. An undignified squeak rises from his throat when he lands awkwardly. Oswald's glad no one heard that. He'd never live that down.

Popping his head out of the vegetation to scout, Oswald considers his next move. He'd need a place to stay and regroup if he was to retake the city. Safe houses were out of the question; everywhere he knew of, so did Ed.

 _Ed_. Who he had kissed. Who had kissed _him_. Ed, who still wouldn't let him in. Ed, who had never been closer yet further away.

Ed, who was still in the mansion somewhere.

He shakes his head of the inconvenient thoughts and scrolls through his contact list, eliminating the definite traitors and possible traitors. The choices dwindle down to single digits. It was a pointless act to search anyway. Oswald already knew there was really only one person he could trust not to be under Ed's—or any criminals—thumb.

With a smirk, he places the phone to his ear.

Arrangements had to be made.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Evil cliffhanger, I choose you! 
> 
> Damn it feels good to finally write something after YEARS of writing nothing, holy shit. So uhh [sweats] I hope someone out there enjoys this [sweats harder] 
> 
> my gotham tumblr: [riddlepenguin](https://riddlepenguin.tumblr.com/)


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